I have regained my taste for coffee after a year or more where I drank it mostly for caffeination. As I get ready to embark on my annual vacation to Canada, I can once again contemplate visiting new coffeehouses and enjoying doing so. Between Toronto, Ottawa, Montreal and Quebec City, as well as on the trains running between them, there will be plenty of opportunity to do so.

Colectivo has fallen into disfavor in my view. I feel like the entire Colectivo brand story is not relatable to me. They had a stunning Featured Farm coffee of the week last week, the Ethiopia Goji, and I imagine that achievement will not be repeated for a few years. I'm tuning out.

I like Rochambo. I feel like it has some connection to the decades-old claim of a coffeehouse as a counterculture mecca. I am basically a tech worker and am certainly not inclined to slam tech workers in any case, but I don't feel the need to dial in that status every waking moment. I can interact with poor people and crazy people and smelly people and random people (and, let's be frank, with non-white-enculturated minority people) and be richer for it. I can't imagine living any other way. The rarified people at Schlitz Park across the street from my workplace befuddle me more than anything. I feel like almost all my interactions are diverse. There aren't many where it's like, "I interact with these people because they're just like ME!" On the contrary.

I've been back to hanging out a Pizza Shuttle a lot over the last couple years. Other than a transportation facility, it's one of the few places where one never quite knows what one will encounter while there. OK, a Monday night will probably just be dead there. A Friday night will range from 8 to 10-level raucousness and a volume level that makes me wear U2 concert-grade hearing protection. More so than other hangouts, I know that the staff mostly knows me--because I usually receive free beer and often have my food order anticipated. As has been the case ever since I started hanging out there in 2005 or so, they have reliable, blazing fast Internet that is ideal for downloading movies and such. (I have usually not had the Internet at my apartment and just tether instead.)

Walking back to my car in Mequon from Cedarburg Sunday, I did a lot of thinking about Starbucks after buying a coffee there. Further to my last post, I have long held that Starbucks is one of the top five or so female-targeted brands on the US market, with Aveda and Lululemon being on top. The brand is, it seems, carefully maintained to be female-forward without being angry or political. I believe that this is evident not so much in what is present as what is curated out. Arguably, areas of obvious appeal to what are known in today's parlance as cishet males are kept out: sports, screens, physical fitness, Pitbull, and food beyond the dainty, almost stereotypically female-appealing items.

it's been a realization of acceptance and equanimity towards Starbucks. There are other consumer brands that would enable me to position myself as the kind of consumer and (superficially) as the person I aspire to be: to succintly convey today's "Mike vibe" on Instagram, for example, I would be more likely to post a picture of a burger or steak sandwich with a craft beer. That would convey the ideal sense of both venue and patron, specifically me. "Tolerant cishet white male, votes Democrat and probably watches Colbert." Bingo! What I wouldn't pay to broadcast that!

There has been a rash of restaurant closings in Milwaukee, as reported in many local news outlets. I would assert that a contributing factor is the paradigm shift in the consumer sector to a female-forward economy. The brands that are surviving, thriving and beginning are strongly female-forward brands.

If I were a service sector executive, I would have at least one staffer working full-time to female-forward every aspect of the business. As much as it pains me to say this--and despite my earnest efforts to buck the trend--in terms of being a relevant factor in consumer spending, the good ship S.S. Male has seemingly sailed, at least in the lakefront-hugging Milwaukee-area market stretching from the North Shore to Bay View.

What are the implications? For one, marketers along this strip ought to contemplate a post-sports bar era. Bar and restaurant design should not include an abundance of screens and super-loud music. It is my observation that women talk to each other in a highly nuanced manner, with great attention paid to inflection, cadence and sibilance. Loud music drives a bulldozer over those nuances. I think it is no wonder that women flock to coffeehouses.

My sincere wish is for Colectivo Coffee to attain the kind of business excellence that generates the abundant tax revenues that provide a community with smooth roads, food on families' tables and books and computers in the schools. Along the way, I believe that it is also fair to expect that Colectivo demonstrate a passion for customer/guest service. The expected level of service is defined by businesses with people who get up every day with a genuine passion for giving the guest an outstanding experience. Such businesses exist and are in competition with Colectivo.

I have observed that Colectivo's operations culture seems overly tolerant of stock-outs ("86"s) and unwillingness/inability to fulfill the customer's order as placed. I believe that a business in Colectivo's category--but indeed any business--should regard fulfilling the customer's wishes, as presented, as mission-critical. If there are systematic problems that prevent this from happening, the business' owners should ask themselves why and take steps to correct the situation. Colectivo seems unusually unresponsive. I have sent e-mails to Colectivo that have gone unanswered. I consider this unacceptable.

One constructive suggestion I can offer is that Colectivo and other coffeehouses attempt to sort patrons between study/work groups and quick service customers, especially on weekends. It's not reasonable for customers who spend the most money per unit of time in the cafe to receive poor service. At the Lakefront cafe, space and staffing would permit an "express lane". I believe the success of this cafe location has been unexpected since day one, and I think Colectivo still struggles to cope with it. Rather than selling merch--which I've never seen anyone buy--and such a wide selection of whole bean coffee, perhaps that space would be better devoted to a quick-service counter with a limited selection of items. This lane could be opened during peak times to reduce the long lines somewhat.

I hope that this article will be read and received in the constructive and helpful spirit in which it is intended.

For over eleven years now, Pizza Shuttle has been the favored third place for this kinda-but-not-very nomadic single person. My appreciation of the Shuttle is that of a fan, but not a fanboy. Indeed, I feel that one ought not go to Pizza Shuttle more than a couple times a week--except in deep winter, when the pizza ovens provide a pleasantly even, not-too-dry warmth in the dining room.

A proper appreciation of Pizza Shuttle in this forum is long overdue, and I'm not sure I'll touch all the bases tonight.

How did it start? Honestly, I'm not sure. My first Pizza Shuttle memory is from about 2005, with a random specific memory of an early MySpace exploration that probably took place that year or the next. The WiFi has always been blazing fast, providing the ability to download a full-length movie in fifteen or twenty minutes.

Internet puttering has always been accompanied by the beer-and-a-slice special, which used to be almost ridiculously cheap and is now merely reasonable. The pizza, even more than the establishment, is a mood thing. Tonight, for example, it was pretty good. I think $8.22 before tip is not bad for a slice of pizza, a 16 oz. Blue Moon and a bottle of water. I sprinkle some of the water on the invariably desiccated deluxe pizza and pour much of the rest into the beer to water it down.

I feel that the true unique selling proposition is the genuinely public (within reasonable limits) space offered in the dining room. I say "genuine" as opposed to that offered by competing low-end late-night dining options such as Oakland Gyros or even Mykonos. Apollo Cafe is also quite relaxed toward lingerers but not open quite as late most nights of the week. Staying longer than thirty minutes earns patrons the Vulcan Death Stare, if not an outright request to leave, at most places open at this hour at this price point. The lack of policing--which I find almost Utopian for a Milwaukee establishment--is amazing. The dining room is basically on the honor system as to whether you buy anything or not. (I wouldn't disclose this information if I thought very many people would see it.)

The charm of Pizza Shuttle is its unpredictability, and I'd be dishonest if I didn't admit that the sketch factor is occasionally off-putting, both in terms of the clientele and in terms of the facility's cleanliness. Some nights I feel like I'm being processed for jail while here, and other nights I'd like to power-wash the entire place with sani solution. (In all fairness, my personal Internet downloads could use that treatment sometimes too!)

On other nights, however, the music mix is random* and perfect, the food decent, the buzz onset slow and gentle, the facility sparkling clean, the crowd nice and well-managed. Tonight is just one such night. I should also mention that Pizza Shuttle has a good interaction and rapport going with me on Instagram, and I seem to recall interacting with them on Twitter as well. What impresses me most about that is that they don't have a real marketing-based need to do that at all, with my being well outside the target demographic. I always hope to provide a win-win, but at the end of the day (which 11:52 p.m. most certainly is), I'm just some dude. Hence this well-deserved appreciation.

Long live the Shuttle! (That probably means not eating much of your own product. Just kidding...sort of ;-)

*Without fail, I hear one or two cool songs during each visit, and have even asked what station it is a couple times. Apparently it's a playlist.

I occasionally get on the defensive--at least in my mind--with regard to my visits to Milwaukee's Potawatomi Bingo Casino. Some people find it hard to believe that I don't gamble. It's difficult to describe my need for the particular kind of people-watching that Potawatomi offers and the unique niche it fills in the Milwaukee area. Nevertheless, I'll try. Milwaukee has a strong, proud bourgeois tradition of "buy low, sell high" that is nearly ubiquitous, particularly in the Downtown, East Side and Third Ward areas.

Though restaurants, coffeehouses and similar venues face an uphill battle growing customer traffic--particularly outside peak periods--there are structural and strategy problems that may get in the way. There's too much of a "me too" mentality that leads, for example, to too many coffeehouses in the Third Ward that are too much alike, too many sports bars everywhere, and the list goes on. Great boldness is required in order to disrupt the dynamic, as has been demonstrated by the Kickapoo Café. One might argue that the long-awaited opening of such a café (with an admittedly steep price point) was aided by a fortunate break in the general economic doldrums.

Obviously, a great deal of freedom from conventional economic strictures and service industry requirements is granted by the fact that at Potawatomi, the cash flow is pretty much covered. I admit that the ethical ins and outs of the situation are, at best, a big gray area. On some level, I may be deriving enjoyment from others' misery, though that seems like a stretch. I would argue that that situation is a given due to the nature of the establishment and that my attendance, if anything, makes the situation better.

My ritual is to plunk myself down in one of the comfy chairs (!) at the 360° bar and watch the people pass by on the casino floor. The bartenders know me by my favorite drink, the Milwaukee Mad Men (basically a brandy old fashioned). The family restaurant-type venue, The Fire Pit Sports Bar and Grill (where the WhiskeyBelles occasionally play in the stage area) offers good food at a good price.

The Kickapoo Café had its grand opening celebration on December 19, 2015, an evening that witnessed a memorable interstellar voyage for me from the clean lines, drab tones and geometric forms of austere Planet Kickapoo to my first complete WhiskeyBelles concert, where the group was bathed in Potawatomi's purple-pink light, a color otherwise used only to sell condoms and massage lotion. The tale is perhaps best told by this screenshot from my Instagram account (the photos are in reverse chronological order, with the bottom row being the Kickapoo grand opening):

The eight-hour journey illustrated, to my mind, the poles of my existence. On the early side, the gray, aseptic coffeehouse, packed full with gender-bending urban folk dwelling within sparkling clean, new surfaces. On the late-night side, curves ahead! The wild, living, reproductive world, in a space that sees no sunlight and whose surfaces are probably teeming with microscopic god-knows-what, with distinct sexes and all the joy and pain that brings.

I need both, and I imagine many (if not most) of us do.

After this roundabout introduction, let me say that the Kickapoo Café is the quality-oriented coffeehouse I have long dreamed of. The approach to quality is evident in both the product and the service, particularly as it involves the atmosphere. The music is at reasonable loudness. I find it difficult to understand the need or even the desire for concert-volume, recorded background music at a coffeehouse (I'm particularly referring to Colectivo's Third Ward location). In fact, that level of noise is physically and mentally distressing to me. Refreshingly, Kickapoo has background music that is played at a volume one might expect at home or in a car. Today, the café played a long string of songs of the roots country genre from which the WhiskeyBelles' repertoire is drawn.

I just spent Easter weekend in the Phoenix area visiting my parents. After five nights sleeping on their (albeit confortable) condo couch and one night of poor sleep in a hotel after staying up too late, I am bushed. Yet some things cannot, or at least should not, wait. I notice the clock on my laptop has turned over to 4/1/2016. My parents moved into their current Wisconsin home approximately 43 years ago, after my arrival made their home too small. In an endearingly humorous turn of events, they moved across the backyard to their current home--after several moves in seven-plus years of marriage, at least one of them long-distance, my parents were weary and wanted to stay as close as possible to where they were. They still live in a house that would be considered a starter home by today's standards, and which was my home for the first thirty years of my life. After moving out, I would return a few years later for winter housesitting/catsitting, which I was not very enthusiastic about at first. In more recent years, I considered it a welcome opportunity to enjoy the benefits of a house--without the bills! (I would still pay rent on my own apartment during these periods, though.)

Despite the roller coaster of my self-esteem, if anyone tried to argue that my parents did not raise fine children, I would have a sharp rebuke for them. I use that scenario as a way of dealing with negative thoughts--what would I say and/or do if someone else spoke them out loud? When I realize that I would go on the defensive, I discern that my negative thoughts are mental garbage and do not reflect my true feelings. How many negative thoughts have I had towards my parents--not just thoughts, but year after year of bad attitude and toxic psychological stink? And yet somehow it was like water off a duck's back to them. Ultimately, it sure ended up hurting me more than them. Someday, it will be too late for my endeavor to reel that back in. That day has not yet come.

Meanwhile, honoring my father and mother (as per the express instruction of The Man Upstairs, but equally as much as per my free will) is more important to me than positioning myself in the dating market as the "right" kind of loud, disruptive, disrespectful, independent male that would probably be better received among Wisconsin women. And I can only thank my lucky stars that I don't live in Arizona, because I would likely be much more out of place there.

For six months of the year, my parents rent a two-bedroom condo in Scottsdale, about a block from the Scottsdale Fashion Square, a high-end mall. When I was in Atlanta over Christmas, I realized I had no particular desire to spend more time in Scottsdale other than with my parents. I want to spend my money and vacation days on youth-oriented, hipster neighborhoods. I am very happy that I rented a car this year, because doing so has allowed me to enjoy this trip where I otherwise wouldn't. After dinner last night, I took a walk around Scottsdale for a couple hours. The contrast to the fun I've been having in Tempe during the day could not be more stark.

New commercial development in Tempe along the Salt River (Rio Salado)

Both Tempe and Scottsdale are boom towns, but the development in Scottsdale seems to have been primarily retail and restaurant, while that in Tempe is on a larger scale. Along the Salt River, an entire neighborhood has sprung up since I started coming here regularly in 2007. My initial impression of Tempe at that time was that it had a nice Madison vibe happening. That has since escalated to The Full Montreal, particularly in the last two or three years.

Good Friday evening marks my third flight on Spirit Airlines, a super-low fare carrier. I am enjoying it more than any flight in recent memory other than last summer's flights on Porter Airways, likewise a low-fare airline. Since Spring 2007, I have flown an average of 2-3 round trips a year, with Phoenix being the most frequent destination because my parents are "snowbirds." During the pre-takeoff briefing, the flight attendant made light of the presumption that upscale consumers would not be flying Spirit. (An inaccurate presumption--as it happens, an affluent-looking businessman type was in the row immediately in front of me.)

I'd been reflecting on such consumer decisions while at the gate. I feel that as I gain travel confidence and experience, I enjoy inexpensive options more than anything. A large part of it is probably my personal purpose for travel. Milwaukee does not always offer as many opportunities for human interaction as I'd like, and when I travel, I try to make up for it. I enjoy the feeling of being turned on to face-to-face interaction for days at a time, simply wandering from my hotel (or my parents' condo, in this particular case) to coffeehouses, restaurants and bars. I enjoy hip, trendy, bohemian neighborhoods. Though I chose to rent a car this time so I could get to more urban neighborhoods of Phoenix efficiently, I almost always rely on walking and public transportation when I travel. I feel like I've had more than enough upper-middlebrow retail and restaurant service in my lifetime. Full-service airlines and hotels were probably reassuring to me when I carried great anxiety during travel, especially travel to unfamiliar places. As I mellow with age, I place increasing value on a sense of adventure.

As I write, I am enjoying one cup each of coffee and tea, both with a shot of Fireball. The Fireball coffee is the best alcoholic drink I've had on a plane and one of the best I've had anywhere in a long time. Somehow, it tastes almost exactly like Glühwein, the German hot mulled wine specialty served at Christmas markets. Incidentally, I have an exit row seat with just as much legroom as I could ask for. I find myself wondering what more I could ask for, even if money were no object. It's roughly a three-and-a-half hour flight. Isn't this enough comfort for something that's over so quickly?

I feel like contentment is more attainable than ultimate luxury. If one shops for luxury, the market will always devise greater luxury for a higher price. If one says, "this moment is good enough. In fact, it's just about perfect," there is no need for escalation. In making this statement, I feel a sense of inner peace that's hard to describe and that I cherish very highly. It's a sense of decisions that reflect transcendence. It's a sense of "this isn't going to impress anybody, especially not on Facebook. But I have obtained what I hoped for and more, at reasonable expense. I am present here and now, and though I'm tapping some thoughts into my laptop, I'm not absorbed by that process. I am enjoying leisure time." The casual chat with the stewardess that resulted from my ordering Bailey's--which they no longer carry--led to my trying something suprisingly good. I place more value on that experience, even from a consumer perspective, than on having my every wish fulfilled exactly as expressed.

I value a sense of serendipity--perhaps precisely because I believe I give my all in life. The way may be erratic and unpredicable, but I affirm its ultimate goodness. What follows A may not be B, but C or D will be wonderful. And yes, to me, this is a large part of religion. I feel that prayers and ceremonies can become an addiction. Like medications, they can have salutary effects--but what if there were no church or no pharmacy, or if they were not within reach? Though I consider myself an orthodox Christian, I believe there has to be a type of inner "firmware", as it were, that we carry even when we're not in church or reading Scripture. It allows us to be as Christian at work, while online in our free time, at a bar or while purchasing an embarassing item at a store as we are at the altar, where self-consciousness and formality likely consume us. Otherwise, I would argue, you'd really have to be the Pope in order to do the 24/7 Christian thing.

Back to the flight: it was so smooth and effortless that we arrived a half-hour early and the ground crew was not ready to accomodate us, so we're sitting on the ground waiting for a jetbridge. To top it all off, not long before the cabin lights turned back on about twenty minutes before landing, I happened to look out the window after powering down my laptop. The plane was flying over an unpopulated area and I saw the stars from above the clouds. The full moon illuminated the clouds like a blanket; it was like a dream sequence from a movie, except it was real. The sight was so beautiful it brought tears to my eyes as I ached with the joy of being alive.